


Stray Capacitance

by dicks



Series: Stray Capacitance [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 1859, 8059, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicks/pseuds/dicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takeshi wasn't good at pretending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stray Capacitance

They were not in a relationship.  
  
-  
  
When they fucked for the first time, it was in the kitchen with Hayato bending down, opened and inviting, fingers clutching tight at the edge of the table and Kyouya pounding in him hard from behind— but in an agonizingly slow pace that made Hayato curse, groan and want to scream, _faster you dumbfuck, faster;_ in suppressed moans so that when he came, he came silent and hushed, trembling violently— all over in Kyouya's hand. And then they were done - Hayato’s hands shook a little as he pulled on his pants - but they did not look at each other, still not talking to each other, and then they moved to Hayato’s room to fuck once more.  
  
-  
  
The thing about their non-relationship intimacy was that they never really talked about it, not even once, so there were some unwritten rules like no touching, and no talking openly unless it was work-related, and what happened in the bedroom stayed in the bedroom, and Hayato was content with the arrangement because they were very good at it — pretending.   
  
Until one day when they were forced, by Tsuna and Reborn respectively, to attend the-idiot-Chiavorone’s – as Hayato called him – birthday celebration. Later that night when almost everyone was wasted, Kyouya stood too close to him, invading his personal bubble, Hayato thought _fuck,_ _Kyouya was probably drunk_ and it was somewhat an amusing sight; but then Kyouya raised one of his hands, plucking something from Hayato’s shoulder and whispering— breathing too close to his ear, “There was lint on your shoulder.” –And Hayato couldn’t help feeling like there were little flutters in his stomach and he thought _fuck,_ he was probably drunk too.  
  
And he grinned and smirked and tried to hide his expression from Kyouya so he turned his head away towards the door— only to find Takeshi standing at the doorway looking with something akin to anguish on his face.  
  
-  
  
Thursday.  
  
Takeshi walked over towards Hayato who was propped unstably on the stool, leaning heavily against sleek surface of the bar countertop. He joined the other man, sitting on the stool beside Hayato but not speaking for a while, contently watching Hayato’s fingers as they trailed ghostly on the rim of the glass.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hayato asked because the silence was eating him.  
  
“I have the night off. Thought I’d join you.”  
  
“The bar is closed.”  
  
Takeshi rubbed the back of his neck, not really smiling. “Am I too late then?”  
  
“You’re always too late, dumbass.”  
  
“I guess I am,” Takeshi sighed, spreading his fingers on the countertop. He looked like he was about to say more but changed his mind after a brief moment, and Hayato was glad for the small blessing because whatever it was he wasn’t sure he even wanted to hear it anyway— because whatever it was it would be all too fucked up, and too real, and Hayato wasn’t prepare to deal with anything like that, especially not with the amount of alcohol in his system.  
  
And then Takeshi opened his mouth again. “Does this mean I missed my chance, Gokudera?”  
  
Even with his alcohol-induced brain, Hayato was almost certain that Takeshi wasn’t talking about the bar anymore or anything in general, but Takeshi didn’t elaborate so he didn’t ask.   
  
Almost slamming his half-empty whiskey bottle in front of Takeshi, he slurred, “I’m feeling generous tonight. Help yourself, idiot.”  
  
-  
  
Hayato woke up with an arm draped around his waist, heavy and warm, clingy and possessive.  
  
He blinked. Once. Twice. He probably shifted, he wasn’t sure, but there was movement.  
  
“Gokudera?”  
  
The figure behind him stirred and Hayato was almost afraid to look back incase what he thought had happened had happened; and then it would become real, so he squeezed his eyes shut, feigned sleep until—  
  
The arm moved from his waist down to his thigh in butterfly touch that make Hayato toes curl. “Are you awake, Gokudera?” - and there was a soft kiss on the shoulder, hair tickling his neck—  
  
And Hayato just— conceded.   
  
He turned around. He told himself it wasn’t him who cupped Takeshi’s face and kissed him fiercely on his lips, it wasn’t him who pressed their bodies so impossibly close together that they were almost joined as one; grinding wildly against each other, and it wasn’t him who gritted his teeth, trying to suppress himself from moaning too loud, and the harsh whisper that shattered the stillness in the room _did_ not escape from his lips, “C’mon, hey- c’mon- fuck idiot yes like that—”  
  
And—  
  
He told himself he never thought about this before- not about how Takeshi’s dark hair would smell like, sticking messily to his scalp with sweat and his own cigarette smoke. He kept telling himself over and over again until he almost believed it.  
  
And—  
  
  
He told himself it would be just once, just this once that he would allow his control to slip.  
  
-  
  
He was standing tall in front of the full-length mirror, fussing with his hair when Takeshi barged in his room, smiling sheepishly, eyes bright and a little too cocky— smiling in the way that make something in Hayato’s chest coil and set off the warning alarm in his head. Hayato peered above his shoulder through the reflection on the mirror, not smiling at the man behind him, frowning. “Don’t you even know how to knock, idiot?”  
  
Takeshi laughed. “I need your help with this,” he said, holding up his plain black tie.  
  
Grunting, Hayato took one last look at his reflection. When satisfied, he turned around with a deep scowl on his face, but still, his fingers found the taller guy’s shoulder, tugging him lightly on the collar- “You’re too fucking old for this” - before reaching for the tie - “and stop grinning like an idiot,” he said as his hands moved gracefully working on the knot.  
  
Suddenly the door opened and a pair of dark eyes was watching them, expression lacking like a blank sheet of paper. “You two are going to be late for the meeting.”  
  
Hayato dropped his hands immediately and said nothing as he walked out from the room, leaving Takeshi with slightly crooked tie.  
  
-  
  
Dinner was awkward— not really, unless he was paying attention. But Hayato wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t going to dwell on how he ended up sitting between Takeshi and Kyouya— it was almost funny, except for the part where it was really not, and the room was kind of stuffy and Hayato’s hands twitched frantically for the cigarettes inside his breast pocket, longed to feel the filtered tips between his lips and the feeling of the smoke as it travel down in his lung.  
  
“You smell like him.” Voice cold as steel, deep and low— meant only for Hayato’s ear.  
  
Hayato glanced with the corner of his eyes to the guy on his left. Takeshi was staring at the tablecloth, lost in his own thoughts. His expression was wrong, Hayato thought, and there was something not right with the way Takeshi was biting his lips.   
  
Biting his _own_ lips, he glared at Kyouya on his right - who was looking bored except for one of his hands which was gripping the spoon too hard, so that his knuckles were turning white- and Hayato couldn’t help flinching inwardly but all he could say was, “Stop sniffing me, fucker.”  
  
-  
  
That night when Kyouya took him dry and raw on the floor at the foot of his bed, Hayato screamed silently inside his head from the burning throb, and between panting and groaning and shaking so hard, he found it difficult to distinguish between the pain and pleasure- so he dug his nails hard enough on Kyouya’s back to almost break the skin, and he thought he might be pushing away or pulling the other man closer, but not once he succumbed to pleading.  
  
Afterwards, when the room was reduced to nothingness but silence and their ragged breath, Hayato’s fingers curled tightly around Kyouya’s wrist- like he cared, like he wouldn’t let go- and all Kyouya said was, “You can stop pretending now.” But there was a little challenge in his voice.  
  
Then Hayato released his grasp slowly and he pulled himself from the floor, feeling sore and tired- so unbelievably tired. Bruises started forming on his hips and with warm, sticky liquid running down the inside of his thighs, he said, “I need a shower,” before turning his back on Kyouya and staggering to the bathroom.  
  
He had stopped pretending long ago but Kyouya didn’t need to know that.  
  
-  
  
Thursday again.  
  
Hayato found himself propped on his elbows on Takeshi’s bed with his legs spreading wide and his pants hanging loosely on his ankle. The taller man kneeled between his legs, looking at Hayato questioningly, and Hayato thought briefly in a blurry daze that maybe they should stop this before they had gone a little too deep, a little too carried away, to even pretend like it was nothing.  
  
“Do you still want me to stop, Gokudera?”  
  
But Takeshi smiled with his eyes and with his lips like he really meant it, like he was foolishly in love and Hayato hissed, cheeks flushed, and then took his own erection in his hands. “Suck it,” he said, utterly breathless.  
  
Hayato wasn’t even drunk.  
  
-  
  
Sometimes Takeshi stood too close— sometimes Takeshi gazed at him openly, intensely, the way he sometimes did when they were alone, and for some reason Hayato found himself almost forgetting to breathe— sometimes Takeshi’s fingers found his under the table and stayed there curling tight with his until their palms dampened with sweat.  
  
Takeshi wasn’t good at pretending.  
  
-  
  
“I’m not going to stake my claim on something that is already mine,” Kyouya said quietly. There was a flash of something fierce crossing his face, just for a moment, and Hayato thought he might have imagined it. Then Kyouya raised his hand, hesitantly at first, and cupped Hayato’s face with a tenderness Hayato never realized he had, locking their eyes under the bright fluorescent lights.   
  
They were back in the kitchen where it had begun and nowhere close to the end.   
  
But the spell was broken when they heard footsteps approaching and before Hayato knew it, Kyouya jerked his hand away as if he was scalding hot and hastily left the room.  
  
Hayato took a deep breath, touching his face where he had been touched and staring blankly at the floor.  
  
-  
  
“I won’t let you slip away, Gokudera.” Takeshi whispered one night as he pressed his lips softly on Hayato’s neck, just below his ear and Hayato thought, maybe, maybe he wouldn’t want to slip away. But then, he also thought about Kyouya’s strong fingers on his wrists, about Kyouya’s familiar smirk, about Kyouya when he was flushed, opened and warm, and the way Kyouya’s thin lips curled upward slightly into a tight smile on his stoic face—   
  
Hayato couldn’t be too sure anymore.

  
-


End file.
